


Devotion

by feelsforever



Category: Supernatural
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Dark, Alternate Universe - Human, Established Relationship, Fear, Homophobia, Human Castiel, Hurt No Comfort, M/M, Pain, Rescue Missions, Starvation, Teen Castiel, Teen Dean, Tortured Castiel, switching POV
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-03-27
Updated: 2015-03-27
Packaged: 2018-03-19 21:35:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,601
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3625086
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feelsforever/pseuds/feelsforever
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean, Sam and Bobby aren't hunters. They still live in America but it's a very different place then it is now. People can and will be locked up and mentally tortured for not following the ridiculous and unrealistic standards they have set.</p><p>Anything other hetrosexuality will not be tolerated. There is only two gender's. There is only one way; their misguided 'Christian' way. You must be hard working and emotionless. Failure to comply will result in you being taken to the reconstruction unit.</p><p>When the government's guards get an anonnamous tip about the boys, things go rapidly downhill and Dean will do anything to get his boyfriend back.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Suddenly there was a flash of blinding white light then… nothing. He couldn’t move. He couldn’t think. He could barely even breathe. There was no chance of escape; just that damn white light boring into his soul every few minutes before plunging him into a state of suffocating darkness. 

Castiel had been there for what felt like well over a month now but there was no way to know for sure. The room he was locked in had no windows that show any natural light. The only way in or out was through the steel double-doors that could only be opened with a specialised key card that all personnel carried. Given the fact that he was strapped tightly to the chair, escape was not an option; at least not a feasible one. 

He had heard rumours of this place but none of the stories came close to what it was really like in there. It was known as a reconstruction unit, one of fifty in the whole county, but the name gave nothing away. That was how they were controlled. They were told about these reconstruction units as children in hopes of turning them into unfeeling robots like the rest; told just enough to scare them into never questioning the tyrannical way the world was run whilst still leaving a lot to the imagination. Somehow, that was worse. The fear of the unknown was somehow very effective in controlling the old and young alike. 

Castiel Novak had seen no one and nothing since he arrived apart from the man that came in once a day to take him to the windowless bathroom that didn’t have so much as a mirror or sink. He had no idea where he was due to the fact that he was heavily drugged on the van ride there but he was more or less sure that he was still in America. He kept drifting in and out of consciousness. When he was asleep, he was dead to the word and when he was awake it wasn’t much better. He couldn’t quite focus on anything. Empty words echoed around his mind and his vision blurred. 

There was nothing to look at and nothing to do but reflect on his ‘sins’. Every so often, a cold emotionless voice would speak up on the intercom above his head, telling him that if he renounced his love for the only person that had ever treated him with an ounce of dignity or affection, then he would be allowed to eat something or take a sip of water. Simple things, primitive things but they were everything when left to rot for so long with only thoughts and memories for comfort.

A few times he had come so close to agreeing, but no. He knew how it worked. It was a slippery slope. Before long he’d resemble the empty shells that came back out again.

They fed a drip into his neck, transferring minimal amounts of nutrients into his bloodstream. It was enough keeping him alive and conscious but only just. He had no energy and his will power was fading fast. He almost wished it would stop completely so then at least, he could escape in death. It wasn’t like he had been allowed much of a life as it was. None of them had really, but for Cas, it was worse. Much worse. His family were quite far up in the government and although they had no control over what was going on, they didn’t exactly do anything to stop it. It was his brother that had turned us in. His own brother! 

Uriel had followed him into the old dirt road that led to nowhere and called the authorities to come take them both away. Dean managed to escape but his boyfriend hadn’t been so lucky.

There was an old abandoned barn where they regularly met. It was simple and cold but it was the only place they could be together more or less in safety. They were snuggled up together, Cas playing with his partner's fingers absent mindedly as Dean read on. Fantasy books were Cas's favourite. They were an escape from their harsh reality. The topic of today's attention was The Lord of the Rings. This was the fourth time of reading it in the few months they had been together. It was quickly becoming one of Cas's favourite books in his steadily growing collection. Dean was his precious. He was Dean's angel and Dean was his precious. As long as they were together, Dean promised after a particularly nasty sermon, nothing bad would ever happen. He had really believed it too. Even the most sensere of hopes crumble in time. There was a noise from outside, a low scuffing noise that was just loud enough to made Dean stop and listen out for more. Cas grumbled when he stopped and he kissed his head affectionately, resisting the urge to roll his eyes. Cas was so impatient when Dean read to him. He never wanted it to end and so it never did. 

“I’m sorry Angel,” he said and continued reading. Cas loved the sound of his precious' voice. ‘It’s low and calming’, he would say. He snuggled his head into the curve of Dean's neck and continued to listen. 

He brought Dean out of the world of rings and ancient runes a while later by lightly tilting his head up to him with two fingers and kissing him. Dean kissed back and smoothed his hand up Cas's thin back and over his shoulders. Cas smiled into his lips the way he always did. He smelt like hay and tasted of peppermint toothpaste and wine from taking communion in church about an hour ago. It was still so new, so bracing, so dangerous. 

It seemed that they had seen what they needed to. Just then a squad of soldiers had them surrounded. Five bulky men against two teenage boys; very brave, thought Dean. They barely had a second to let it all register before Cas was up on his feet and tugging Dean up too. They ran. They ran as far and as fast as they could. It wasn’t enough. The five burly men soon caught up and grabbed hold of both boys. Out the corner of his eye, Dean saw Castiel thrashing and struggling. That’s all it took. He wrenched his captor’s vice-like grip from his arms and ran to his aid. 

“No- no! Dean, run! Forget about me; just run!” he yelled frantically and despite every fibre of Dean's body was telling him to help his angel, he knew that there was no point in letting them both get captured. Dean was nothing to him if he was locked up too. Dean managed to make brief eye contact and saw that Cas was thinking the same thing. “I love you,” Dean mouthed before turning and running as fast as he could in the opposite direction, his eyes stinging with tears that he refused to let fall. He didn’t know how long he kept going. It must have been hours. All he knew was that he had to get out of there. He had to get help. But who would help now? He was the stupid faggot that made trouble for everyone by simply being alive.

The cold female voice rang in his ears again, filling his ears with poisonous words.

“Confess your sins and be forgiven. If you cast out the evil inside of you, you will be rewarded.”

It was the same message as always.

He used to try to argue or reason with her but he now realised there was no point. It was better that he saved his energy. Lord knows he needed it.

His stomach ached with lack of nourishments and his head spun. If it wasn’t for the bindings, holding him against the chair, he would’ve collapsed onto the floor by now.

He thought back to Dean, wondering what he and his uncle Bobby and his little brother Sammy were doing and if he would ever get out of there.

He trusted his boyfriend with all his heart and knew that if he wanted something, he generally got it. He could be very persuasive at times. Castiel of all people knew that. But he couldn't help but think that this time it was just too much to expect of him.


	2. Chapter 2

Things were getting desperate and I was no closer to busting him out than I had been two weeks ago. The only good news was that Bobby had managed to get in touch with a few people, both in the government and in public that wanted the regime changed. They had all seemed enthusiastic about it at first but nobody was really willing to do anything worthwhile so not to draw attention to themselves or their family. It was a valid reason, I realised but it didn’t stop me ranting about it. 

He sent a few emails to those in power, coded of course. But we hadn’t heard anything back yet. This was ridiculous! I was quickly coming to realise that if I wanted to get him out, I was going to have to go in myself and get him. No one else was going to help me; that was for sure.

A few weeks had passed and I now had at least some information on his welfare along with the location of office where the records were kept thanks to one of the keener congressman that had got in touch although she was only willing to talk on video chat so that there was no paper to trace anything back to her. 

At four pm every afternoon, we would look forward to Charlie’s icon popping up on the computer monitor and she would feed us information about what sort of conditions Castiel was being kept in, what was happening to him and simple progress reports on how he was holding up.

Whenever we gave her a complement on her mad hacking skills, she would flick her flaming red hair and smile with a little "I know." 

Every so often, she would go into her own little world, talking to a bobble-head she kept on her desk and asking herself what Hermione would do.

I was glad to know that he was alright, or at least alive, but every update left me feeling more and more worried. It was maddening. We couldn’t find out where he was or what was happening to him exactly. They weren’t exactly forthcoming in the way of information. They would put codes or letters that meant different things twice a day. So far we had managed to find out that ‘NC’ meant ‘no change’, ‘P’ was protested and ‘S’ meant silent. The increasing amount of ‘S’ marks worried me. What did that mean? 'Silent.' Was he alright? Was he safe?

The amounts of food he was getting per day was also recorded but it was recorded in millilitres instead of pounds or calories and I don’t think they did it correctly anyway. The numbers were far too low to be keeping him healthy. But in milliletres? What did that even mean? Perhaps it was some kind of decoy…?

Even with her incredible skill, Charlie couldn’t do more than that from where she was. We had to get into the archives volt.

After a few weeks of her feeding us information, she seemed to have decided to trust us. She told us about her adopted daughter; Jaimie and her female ‘roommate’. They were apparently being kept there too but she avoided the question when we asked why they had been taken.

It turned out that she was desperate to get her back. Not desperate enough to actually do anything about it on his own apparently but I hadn’t said anything. She didn’t have to help us but she was and that was all that mattered right now.


	3. Chapter 3

Castiel was getting frantic now. He couldn’t take it anymore. He wasn’t sure if they could hear him all the time but there was camera’s in his cell, of that he was sure. The first and only time the voice had broken away from the script was when he had first arrived in this hellhole and he had tried to flip his chair over in a desperate attempt of escape.

It had been weeks. Maybe even months, he didn’t know.

He was starving hungry, he was cold and stiff and his head burned what with the transition from an inky blackness to the blinding white light. He had barely slept the whole time he had been there. They hadn’t let him. Every time it looked like he was about to slip out of consciousness, they would flood his room with the glaring white light or that damn monotonous voice. 

The next time the woman spoke, he decided, he’d say what they wanted to hear. As long as he knew it wasn’t true, how much progress could they really make? He felt an excruciating stab of guilt in his stomach but it was either dying in there or doing what they said. What was it that Dean always said? ‘Desperate times called for desperate measures’. If this didn’t constitute as ‘desperate’ he didn’t know what would. 

“I give up. You win!” he shouted with as much energy as he could which wasn’t saying much. 

Silence. 

“Please, did you hear me? I give up. I give up!” he choked out. It was the first time he had used his voice in such a long time. It sounded strained and unnatural. “Please…” he sobbed, sinking further down his chair. Who was he kidding? He was broken. They had won.

Nobody answered. He thought at first that nobody had heard him until a light came on. Not the horrible blinding light that he would never get used to but a warm light that allowed him to see comfortably.

A few minutes later there was a noise from outside the door and a man in the standard black suit and black cap that was pulled down low to hide his eyes entered with a tray of dry bread, plain rice and a jug of water almost taunting him with it.

He stopped a few feet away from Cas and asked him to state what it was that he had given up on. They actually wanted to hear him say it; the words that would break his heart. Could they really be that cruel? He felt tears trickling down his cheeks and he choked on a sob. "Please." The man was made of solid stone: cold, detached and emotionless. He repeated the request again. Castiel glanced down at the basic food that he so craved. He heard his stomach groaning but the thought of what he was now being asked to do made him feel nauseous. “I… I’m sorry.” The man stood still, waiting silently for more. When Cas didn’t speak for a few more seconds, he turned away to leave. “No, wait. Wait! Please. I- I don’t love Dean.” He sniffed, “I don’t like men and I don’t love Dean. I- I’m sorry. P-please... Please.” He sobbed into his uncomfortable stiff clothes. The man nodded and stepped forward to undo his fastenings. He immediately dropped to the ground and began stuffing the food greedily into his mouth with barely a pause for breath. He knew that he would regret it later but he didn’t care. He couldn’t. It was hardly a banquet but it was the best he had in who knows how long.


End file.
